Alea Iacta Est

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"For someone who has admitted to having smaller tolerances for social activities than when he was younger, you seem rather excited to attend."

Fyrian took his wine from his hands and drank as well. She emptied the glass' contents easily, and set it back down before pressing against his body, her teeth nipping softly at the underside of his jaw.

"But before all of that, let us start this day in the best way possible."

[Csephion Draxus]

Ariadne's intentions of properly greeting the morning were welcome, and Draxus found himself indisposed for another hour. The entourage left the villa with the sun only a few hours from zenith, a scandalously decadent allowance of time. In the end, Draxus had chosen a garment of green, with the faintest notion of purple stitching at the hemlines. The litter began the procession toward the arena. Pascias and Mako alike tagged alongside Draxus and Ariadne, but on foot. A group of a dozen people varying between guards and slaves made up the rest of the group as they headed toward the venue.

"Pascias, tell me of the political investment."

The scholar slave smiled self-assuredly

"Already purchased, Domus. The common people will be very thankful, I think."

"Good, good."

The Satrap fanned himself idly as he looked sidelong at his lover.

"Full bellies speak convincingly to empty minds."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Unlike the Satrap, who'd dressed himself in color, Fyrian opted for a much more simple gown of white. It was laced with the faintest threads of silver, and held a dull shimmer in the sunlight. It hugged her form in just the right places while draping in others. Her hair she had partially put up, and she had chosen silver jewelry to match. Greenstone earbobs accented her eyes while thin silver cords encircled her neck and wrists.

It had not taken long for her to become as accustomed to wearing such fineries, and she found them as easy to put on as her normal shark leathers.

She caught the look that Draxus gave her, and smirked in return.

"I would not expect anything less than such scheming and plotting from you."

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap gave a coy smile.

"Simple people have simple needs. Where as someone such as myself or yourself demands higher pursuits, sanguine existence between the Gods and the nations around us, or other such notion, there are those who live and die by the grain dole. To us it is just bread, but who is to say that I am not giving them more by proportion?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"And your motivations for doing so? Are they for a personal fulfillment of the soul, or something that would help to feed your own political ambitions?"

Fyrian was no fool, and knew that the Satrap had his eyes set on lofty conquests.

"Knowing what I do of you, I'm inclined to suspect that what you did, you did to further yourself toward your own goals; whatever those may be."

[Csephion Draxus]

He smiled at her barb knowingly, as the litter and procession began their way along the direct thoroughfare to the arena. Already the streets were thick with bustle and noise.

"But then you must also know that my avaricious ambition is also to reciprocate myself upon the state and her citizens alike. Why can't both pursuits be one in the same?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She stared at him for a time, studying his features and the lines on the outer edges of his eyes. Finally she broke the silence.

"A noble endeavor, I will grant you that. But if you do eventually get what you so desire, will you remember that?

"Does the whole of Necia wish to be far-reaching conquerers who rule all of Asga, or is that the want of one man?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"I think that at some level, all citizens long to be a part of greatness. By extension, they too become great."

The circular superstructure of the arena could now be seen, the focal point at which seven roads intersected through the hills. The buildings receeded back to reveal a wide open plaza, adorned with beautiful statues and lavish obelisks. Giant columns with ornately-carved Aquilae stood as austere perches to watch over the beating heart of the city.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

The time was fast approaching when she would have to watch her comrades meet their fates at the hands of Necian politics, but Fyrian was bent on pushing it from her thoughts for as long as possible; even as the arena came into view. It was a grand structure, and the architecture around it was equally as beautiful and awe-inspiring.

She turned from the view to look at Draxus.

There was gentleness in her eyes as she reached a hand up to give his cheek a soft touch.

"For your sake, I hope that they do."

[Csephion Draxus]

The litter was lowered at the front of an arch leading into the Arena. They were here. Draxus rose, extending a hand to Ariadne.

"Indeed. My very life depends upon it."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian left that matter alone as she accepted the Satrap's hand. He was steadfast in what he wanted, and she would not try to dissuade him in any way. It seemed as though he was willing to risk his life for what he felt Necia should become, and in many ways the Glaucan respected that. Who was she to say otherwise? She'd spent her life trying to pick away at the very thing he was set on building.

Standing at Draxus' side, she gave a brief look upwards to the archway that led into the Arena, suddenly feeling rather small. The grandeur of Necian workmanship was impressive, and in its' own way captivated her.

To be in the heart of the enemy.

Enemy... was Necia really that? To her father yes, but she was not her father, and as each hour went by that she spent in Draxus' company, Fyrian was quickly realizing that she and Kariun held dissenting views. Before his death and as she grew up, she was more than happy to follow him out on whatever whim he took; and raiding coastal Necian towns had never been an issue as she was often times hilt-deep in the pillaging alongside the crew.

She was learning on her own however, that there was a soft heart beneath the stone facade that men such as Csephion Draxus had given Necia.

Fyrian shook herself from her reverie, and cast her eyes about at the crowds around them.

"People are staring again," she grumbled despondently.

[Csephion Draxus]

"That is what the vulgar populous will do. We are the ones to be seen."

Draxus was already standing and raising a hand in a casual greeting to those whose attention was directed towards them.

"Enjoy it, and make them in turn enjoy the spectacle."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Not one to be completely adverse to another's enjoyment, Fyrian held her personal complaints in. But, what he said gave her pause nevertheless, and she spoke out the side of her mouth.

"And is that what I am? Nothing but a spectacle?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Nothing but?"

Draxus shook his head.

"Hardly. But it is a role we both play in the here and now. To be seen in this heady atmosphere by people great and small."

Assembling in adjacent private elevated seating to either side were other Satraps, nobility, and men of quality, and those who were seen with them. They were all dressed gaily, and looked like a gaggle of demigods beneath the rabble below and all of their shabby discord.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

For as out of place as she felt, Fyrian was doing a superb job in hiding her unease, and as Draxus pulled her along, she afforded a few nods here and there to those that waved. It was such a foreign feeling, and she suddenly wished to be on the deck of the Chiron, plying the waters around Asga.

But no. Her ship was no doubt in ruins; ransacked by Necian soldiers.

And here she was, hand in hand with a Necian Satrap.

Fyrian steeled herself for what she would have to endure, and gave to Draxus a nod of her head and a forced smile.

"If that is the will of the Satrap."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Far beyond my will."

A blast of trumpets crescendoed through the arena and the crowd let loose a deafening roar at the anticipation of events to come. Wreath-crowned workers rolled oxcarts in and began feverishly tossing prizes into the crowd. There were loaves of bread, bags of fruit and spices, silver rings, bunches of olives still clinging to branches, and even small denominations of aquilae. The crowd flocked to the edge, eagerly grabbing what was tossed their way.

Draxus smiled, and managed to glance to the side to catch the venemous glare of Varo from several boxes away.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Following Draxus' sideways look, Fyrian too laid eyes on Varo. The look he sent their way was one that surprisingly did not catch her off guard, and she smiled sweetly in return, sending him a small, almost mocking wave.

"Your friend looks positively ecstatic."

It was a decidedly sarcastic tone that she took with her newfound lover, and one that he would no doubt understand.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Ever the naysayer, he."

Draxus nodded, pleased with the notion.

"Let him fret. We will see where the die falls when the game is ended."

Dancers began to prance from each of the four gates, wearing ribbons in their hair and bangles from their wrists and ankes, each wearing Fiannic silks so fine that they were practically transluscent. It was a mesmorizing sight that left little to the imagination, and young boys played wooden pipes as the tempo increased.

To one side, a pantomime had begun between two male actors, one dressed as a woman with comically enlarged prosthetic breasts, and the other wearing a soldier's helmet with a wooden sword and a prosthetic phallus strapped around his waist. He fought other similarly-dressed actors with his sword, and with the help of some off-stage fire affinity magic for special effects, a fiery flatulence. It was a great success and resorted in bawdy cheers and jeers from the viewers closest to it.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

To her, the whole show put forth was rather boring, but for the sake of her host, Fyrian showed as much interest as she could possibly allow herself. It was not much, admittedly. The Glaucan found far more interest in the simple joys of life; watching waves crash upon a sandy beach, enjoying a quiet sunset, and other such tranquil activities. That was not to say that she didn't fancy a rowdy tavern or a fist-fight with whomever she wished, but watching men and women put on some sort of dance was never high on her list of things to do before she died.

She watched idly at those down below, spectators and performers alike. Many who'd come to watch the festivities were still grasping at the gifts that Draxus' money had purchased, and were now being so happily distributed. It was far more entertaining that the show being put on.

After a short amount of silence, she spoke once more, her gaze still upon those scrambling for handouts.

"When the die is cast, where do you think it will fall."

[Csephion Draxus]

"On Necia's side."

Draxus leaned against the railing and offered little lucidity at his vague response. Obviously it was his notion that he acted on good faith of the State.

Wild animals were now being paraded into the arena as the dancers and pantomimes broke ranks. A Tigraphant was prodded into the center of the arena, obviously meant to do battle with a trio of quill cats which were cut loose from a cage that was hauled forward. The barb-skinned felines snarled as they scrambled out, circling the enraged Tigraphant in what looked to be a delightful battle of flesh, utterly contrary to natural order.

"An interesting match, here."